


Bang Bang

by sebviathan



Category: Psych
Genre: 1967: A Psych Odyssey, 60s AU, Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, but not necessarily abusive, it's simultaneously both, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 00:45:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5607259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rewind to 1967; the same two souls, a similar connection, but different names. Different jobs. Different circumstances.</p><p>This time around, the affair is painfully short: It starts and ends with a bang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bang Bang

**Author's Note:**

> This is just..... sin. It's literally an AU of an AU, but also?? not?
> 
> Basically, it's canon compliant because I stuck to the information provided about the Archie Baxter case in 1967: A Psych Odyssey. But it's also an AU because I'm essentially writing them _as_ Shawn and Lassiter, though naturally with tweaked personalities to fit the scenario. The best way to compromise this, as I've decided, is to interpret as a sort of past-lives situation--which is actually reasonable, if you believe in reincarnation. Because Baxter died in '67 while Lassie was born in '69, and there's absolutely no evidence of when Caruso died, so.
> 
> Anyway I don't know who the hell I'm even appealing to besides myself, here, but I know I can't be the only person who's upset that Baxter and Caruso never interacted in the episode. And I'm _probably_ not the only one who figured that since Juliet and Gus's characters were canonically lovers, it only fits that Shassie would be canon in that AU, too.

It all starts with a bang, and not even in the colloquial sense.

After a couple weeks of trying to get some dirt on Watt and coming out with nothing, Baxter's gotten too impatient to just sit around. That is, he's snuck to a part of the Limelighter Lounge where regular patrons aren't allowed, and he's found himself someplace he has no business being, witnessing something he really shouldn't.

Of course, that's life for a crime reporter, but not really a reporter like _him_. Hell, even most of his superiors who grab big scoop on the weekly probably haven't ever wound up watching serious mafia proceedings through a crack in the door.

That is, murder.

It's some kind of honor killing, as far as he can tell—Caruso himself is there, pacing around a guy bound to a chair, giving a long, slow, even flourishing speech about how he's betrayed the mob, and what a disgrace that is.

By the end, Caruso's voice has turned to honey, and he even threads his fingers through the other man's hair, as though petting him.

For a moment Baxter thinks that he's about to let the guy go and give him a second chance, and so does the man on trial himself—and in the next moment, before either of them even notice that a guard has handed Caruso a gun, there's a bullet in his head.

The guy slumps, and Baxter freezes.

"We're done here," Caruso says almost cheerfully. Then he gestures to a couple of his men, tells them to "Take care of our friend, will you," and begins strutting toward the door.

Which means Baxter needs to move, _now_.

Why he couldn't have just left as soon as he realized what was going on, he doesn't know. Maybe fear kept his feet planted there, or some kind of sick curiosity—or a stupid sense of hope that he could somehow swoop in and save the day and be a hero.

 _Maybe I should've just become a cop instead,_ he thinks for the hundredth time, _if I wanted to be that kind of hero._

And for the hundredth time he reminds himself that he doesn't, that he's dedicated to the _truth_ and that the police aren't. Not when half of them are in the mob's pocket.

As quietly as he possibly can (though his heartbeat is probably louder than his footsteps), Baxter tries to move away from the door and down the hallway, to where he can reasonably lie and say he was looking for the bathroom and got lost—

Just out of sight of the door, Caruso comes around the corner to face him. He wears a knowing smirk rather than any kind of anger or surprise, which means he must have known Baxter was here. Maybe he caught a glimpse of him leaving the hallway; maybe he knew he was there the whole time.

"So you didn't like my little show, I take it," is the first thing he says, and it wrenches up a kind of disgust in Baxter's stomach. "Messy stuff, I know, but it had to be done... You know, you got a lot of balls for a reporter, spying on me for a story... as if the public doesn't already know who I am."

Caruso flashes a smile and steps closer, then, as though expecting him to back up into the wall. He doesn't.

"You're not the one I want a story on," Baxter tells him, maintaining a straight face. It's probably safer, here, to be honest. "I don't have any beef with you, Caruso, I just want proof that Watt doesn't, either."

"Hm." He steps closer again. "Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. And maybe you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I've seen you around here often—you're a paying customer, I can give you the benefit of the doubt, hm?"

At this distance, Baxter can tell that he's the taller one. Surely Caruso can see it as well, but he holds himself no differently.

"Sure," he says smoothly.

"...You're not afraid of me, are you, Baxter? I like that."

"You know my name."

"It's engraved on your pen, sticking out of your pocket there," he says, leaning closer yet, and looking smug.

"You're very observant."

"I have to be—my profession calls for it... You're very _brave_."

"Yeah, well. My profession calls for it."

Caruso pauses to chuckle, and he seems to give Baxter a once-over before reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Come have a drink with me, my friend. You can even have your usual glass of non-alcoholic milk," he adds with a laugh, "but I won't take no for an answer."

 

*

 

Lest anyone suspect the reporter himself of being in Caruso's pocket, he allows the man into his private office for their drink.

That's where his consideration ends, however, as he pours them matching glasses of whiskey after Baxter forgoes the milk. He really has no choice but to accept, though he does hesitate for a second or two.

"I don't suppose you brought me here to tell me all about your involvement with Chief Watt," Baxter says stiffly, trying not to cringe at the taste of the whisky.

Caruso smirks and leans against the side of his desk. "No, I'm not, Baxter. Mm— _Baxter_. Can I call you something else?"

He downs about half of his glass right then, and the reporter frowns.

"What's wrong with my name the way it is?"

"Nothing, I just like nicknames. How do you feel about _Baxie_?"

Baxter scowls and gulps as much of the whiskey as he can, at which Caruso laughs again and stands up. The office is small enough that that puts them significantly closer at once, and Baxter presses himself tighter against the wall.

"Not very good then, huh?"

"My first name is Archibald," he supplies, a bit reluctantly. "Some people call me Archie."

He notices a glint in Caruso's eyes, then feels a hand on the side of his waist. The alcohol, as little as he's had, slows his reaction time.

" _Archie_ ," Caruso repeats, lips stretching into a grin. "That's cute."

Time seems to move slower, and Baxter barely registers the other man sliding his hand slower and leaning closer until he can feel hot breath on his lips. At which his eyes shoot wide open with a start, and he holds up a hand between them.

"Caruso—"

"Call me Rodney," he insists. His voice sounds like honey again.

"What is this?" Baxter pushes firmly on Caruso's chest, but only forces him back enough so that he can see his face. "What are you doing?"

"...I like you, Archie." Even as the reporter looks affronted, he takes no offense, and remains casual. "And I don't invite just _anyone_ who spies on me in my own establishment back here. You have that... fire. And I _want_ it."

"What makes you think my _fire_ swings that way?" he practically spits out. His hand stays where it is.

"I told you I've seen you around, and you know how observant I am. I've seen where your eyes go, _nene_... If I'm wrong, feel free to walk right out of here. I won't stop you."

He should. Attraction aside, he should get the _hell_ out of there now that he has the chance, and he should quit this case and never look back. This is a crime lord—a man who kills people, innocent or otherwise, without a second thought. Less than half an hour ago he _watched_ him kill someone.

But he can't find it in himself to move, and it's not even out of fear.

Maybe it's a sick sense of pride that a man like this has chosen him of all people. Maybe it's the unexplainable feeling that he knows him from somewhere else (possibly another life?).

Or maybe it's just the fact that he's hard, and the heat between them is undeniable.

Baxter doesn't say yes or even nod—he simply softens, and lets his hand drop to his side. Caruso understands immediately and grins, and in the next moment there's a mouth on his and a hand sliding down the front of his trousers.

When Caruso's lips find his neck and his mouth is free again, it occurs to him—

"What about Scarlett? Ain't she your girlfriend?"

"Don't worry 'bout her," he breathes. And then he rolls his hips against Baxter's to ensure that he won't.

Within another minute, their jackets hit the floor.

 

*

 

No one ever knocks on Baxter's door, not even his family or co-workers. So when he hears banging outside his apartment, he's more inclined to believe it's the TV—except that's not on. Maybe the sleep deprivation getting to him, then.

But then it happens again, and he hears a familiar voice calling, "I know you're home, Archie!"

His first instinct is to freeze, and his second instinct is that his first instinct is shit. Which is probably why he's not a cop.

For his own safety, he rushes to open the door. On the other side is none other than Rodney Caruso, who is... oddly dressed down, in a suit more similar to his own, and a hat. Probably to keep from being recognized by the neighbors, which Baxter is grateful for, but he's much more focused on _how_ the hell he's even here.

"...Did you have me followed?"

"What do you take me for, Archie?"

"Um—"

"Don't answer that. Either way I didn't have to, your address was easy enough to find out. So... you going to invite me in, or what?"

Grimacing, Baxter steps aside and gestures inside his apartment, then shuts the door behind him as soon as his uninvited guest walks in.

"What are you doing here, Caruso?"

"Ha—you fuck a guy, you'd think he's going to be less than formal the next time you meet," he laughs, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair. It's less slicked back than usual.

Baxter sighs resignedly, and frowns. "What are you doing here, Rodney?"

"I haven't seen you at the Lounge in over a week, and I was hoping for an encore performance. I hope you haven't been avoiding the place because of me..."

"Well, of course I have," Baxter tells him, and even now Caruso doesn't look offended so much as surprised that he would be so blunt. "This is... Whatever this is, it can't happen. We're enemies, Ca—Rodney—no, _Caruso_ , we're... Look, I'm justice, and you're the mafia. I'm working on exposing Watt as a corrupt chief, for Christ's sake, and I'm not giving that up."

For a moment Caruso just stands there, staring at him. And then he simply shrugs and nods.

"That is all true. And I respect your job, Archie, but justice and the mafia aren't, ah... what is it, oh—mutually exclusive. Laws are fickle and morals are grey, you should know this. I don't hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it."

"If you say so," he says dryly.

"Regardless, I don't know how you expect to get anything on Watt if you avoid the Lounge."

"Well, maybe I wasn't ready for an _encore_."

Caruso's eyes light up, and he immediately sheds his jacket, tosses it onto the couch, and moves forward. Baxter doesn't step away if only to retain his dignity.

" _Well_. Are you ready now? Your body sure looks like it, from what I can see of it."

Which would be the growing redness of his neck, his slowly heaving chest (partially shown by the top of his shirt, unbuttoned), and his legs pushing him to lean ever so slightly forward.

He can blame the first time on the alcohol—he never drinks, so even that small glass of whiskey could have severely clouded his judgment. But if he says yes _now_... that's all him. Him and Caruso's voice, which is far too sweet for a man who's done what he's done, even with that kind of accent.

"This is illegal," he tries one last time to rationalize—but he understands that it's useless the moment it comes out of his mouth.

Caruso just laughs and kisses him. And in spite of himself, Baxter already starts tugging the man's shirt out of his pants.

"You're more impatient than you admit," Caruso mutters against his lips. "...I don't suppose you have a bed in this place?"

He's almost embarrassed to bring him to it, what with the kind of extravagant life he leads as a mob boss and the kind of life _he_ leads as a reporter, but Caruso— _Rodney_ doesn't say a thing about it. He just shoves him down onto it and breathes,

"I have to apologize in advance."

Baxter's eyes shoot open, and he feels a stab of fear for whatever that means—but the other man is too busy unbuttoning his shirt to even notice.

"...For what?"

He ducks down to kiss his lower stomach before answering:

"For the mustache burns you're going to have in between your legs."

 

*

 

Once is a hook-up, twice just means the first was too good to leave alone, but three times makes it a pattern and by the fourth, Baxter's pretty sure that makes them lovers.

Or something like that, because even though he isn't necessarily afraid of Caruso, he doesn't think it's a good idea to ask what they are to him. Because then he'll get the wrong idea and think he's being clingy and end it—or even worse, he'll laugh at him and say that _of course_ you weren't nothing but just a piece on the side. A good fuck.

Of course.

Because his relationship with Scarlett is clearly a happy one. Baxter isn't a replacement for something he's lost with his girlfriend (or something he never had), he's just... a little something more. Which is odd, since as morally grey as Caruso is, he doesn't actually seem the type to cheat.

He doesn't do this with anyone else, as far as Baxter knows. Not that he'd care if he _was_ _—_ that would just be redundant, considering he's a crime reporter fucking a mob boss.

Sometimes he thinks that this is all just an elaborate game, that Caruso believes if he can get him around his finger, then he'll end up reluctant to continue with his investigation. And if that's what this is, well, two can play it.

 

*

 

For all the talking that Caruso does before and after (and even during, because holy hell that mouth never seems to stop running), he never lets slip much that Baxter actually wants to know, Watt-related or otherwise. So eventually, he decides to go to the next best place for information:

Scarlett Jones.

He knows exactly when Caruso is busy, which makes it easy enough to find her alone at the Limelighter, leaning against the railing and watching Miles Velour sing and dance on stage. Coincidentally close to where Watt is living it up in his booth.

"Really something, ain't he?" he says casually as he steps up next to her. "I'll never understand how he does the splits like that—'specially without ripping his pants every time."

In his peripheral, he notices Scarlett giving him an amused smirk. And then he looks over.

"I'd say you were trying to flirt with me, but I see you already got someone," she says, and for a moment Baxter's confused until he sees that she's eyeing the bruise on his neck.

Briefly, he relives the way that it got there, and then sheepishly pulls his collar up to hide it. Hopefully she doesn't notice the bit of mustache burn right above it.

"Nah, just makin' conversation," he tells her. "I'm Archie Baxter."

"Scarlett Jones... but you already knew that. And you didn't really come here just to chat about Miles—unless you really were flirting?"

If he didn't know better, he'd say _she_ was flirting, based on the way she smiles at him.

"Ha—no ma'am, I actually wanted to ask you some questions about your boyfriend. You see, I'm a reporter—"

"A _reporter_ ," she repeats, almost mockingly. "...Well, what kinda questions you got, Baxter?"

He starts off with questions he already knows the answer to—simple, non-incriminating stuff, just to see if she's willing to tell the truth at all. And she is. Before he can actually work up to anything regarding the darker parts of Caruso's profession, let alone Watt, however, the man in question shows up and hooks an arm around his girl's waist.

Looks like he finished _taking care_ of that guy pretty early.

"What's this?" he asks, smiling curiously between the two of them.

"Oh—Rodney, Archie here was just asking about you, for some story he's workin' on," she tells him, twisting around to smile at her boyfriend.

"You didn't tell him too much, I hope," he laughs, holding her tighter. Baxter feels something akin to jealousy rise in his chest, but pushes it down. And he can only assume he's about to have to pretend to be meeting Caruso for the first time, but—"He's only asking you because he couldn't get it from me."

Scarlett raises an eyebrow. "You've met?"

Baxter holds his breath, waiting for what Caruso's about to tell her—

"Met? We're _amigos_ _—_ Archie didn't mention?"

"Oh." She looks back to him, still with the same smile. "In that case, why don't we buy you a drink, Mister Baxter?"

He opens his mouth to tell her, but Caruso is faster: "Oh, he doesn't drink."

 _I do when you're the one who offers it,_ he keeps himself from saying.

And then Caruso lets go of his girlfriend, stepping over to put a hand on Baxter's shoulder instead.

"Do you mind if I steal you away for a moment?"

"...Not at all."

He couldn't say no even if he wanted to, though he does hazard a glance back at Scarlett as they walk away (especially as Caruso's hand slides off his arm), wondering if there's any chance she suspects.

As though reading his mind, the other man leans in while walking and mutters,

"I could kiss you right here and she'd still be oblivious. Everyone would. Or, at least, they would look the other way."

"For their own safety," Baxter mutters back.

"Yours, on the other hand..."

He doesn't have to ask what he means—he just grimaces.

Caruso leads them to his office—not the private one from their first night, but the bigger one, closer to the entrance. And once he closes the door, he presses Baxter against it.

"I know what you're doing," he starts lowly, lips pursed and eyes heavy-lidded. "It's a nice try, but she's not going to tell you anything, _mi querido_."

"Mm—" Just then he thumbs the same bruise on Baxter's neck that his girlfriend was eyeing earlier, and he has to stop himself from gasping. "Well. We'll see."

Caruso smirks, and leans in to kiss him below the ear. Just to torture him, surely, because he has no choice but to bite his lip when they're this close to the rest of the Lounge.

"I suppose we will," he mumbles against him—and then promptly steps away toward his desk, leaving Baxter hard and confused.

"What are you—?"

"I'm a busy man, Archie. Come back in about... an hour, hm? Then we can pick this back up."

As he sits down, Baxter remains at the door, scowling.

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning, I'm very much in the mood to have you over my desk, but it would be nice to... ah, have you suffer a little bit, first."

He only stares for another second or two before leaving the office. _Evil bastard._

 

*

 

It's quite an odd arrangement, and not only because of their conflicting professions. In fact, considering how little regard Caruso gives to his attempts to get information from Scarlett, it might as well not even be a conflict. It's more of a routine, a dance.

He was right; she barely gives him anything. Nothing of substance, at least. But Baxter keeps trying and hey, Caruso thinks it's cute.

It's weird, out-in-the-open flirting (a hand on his shoulder and an "Anyone ever tell you ya look like Rod Taylor?" and a toothy smile), making Baxter wonder if this is even any kind of secret. Maybe the man only insists he stay quiet when they fuck just to see if he can.

It's being pulled away from the bar, or from a talk with Scarlett, or from a table near Watt's. Or from his typewriter, when Caruso visits him at home.

It's a smack on the ass when they're finished, and only a vague sense of shame.

It's a weird feeling, mainly about Scarlett.

(It's Miles Velour—her eyes are always on him.)

"Velour's a liar and a gambler and a thief," Caruso tells him with an odd casualness when he brings it up, which is not-so-surprisingly while still in bed. "But my girl loves his noise, so what can you do."

"She loves funk enough not to care that he gambles your money away?"

"Not even if she knew." He breathes a mirthless laugh and rolls his head over to face him. "...What kind of music do you like, Archie?"

For a moment Baxter doesn't believe that's a real question, but Caruso stares at him expectantly. So he sighs and thinks.

"Eh, I guess I really like the Stones."

"That's it?"

"Dunno, I'm not too much of a music person."

"But you like The Rolling Stones."

"Yeah, why?"

"Because I want to know more about you, that's why."

Then there's an arm around his chest (holding him a bit tighter than usual) and lips pressed to his shoulder, and that's the end of that. For the time being.

 

*

 

Two weeks later Caruso practically orders him to come to the Limelighter Lounge, and when he gets there, it's so packed that he almost doesn't see the posters.

 

 _Limelighter presents the_ _**Rolling Stones** _ _, for one night only._

 

When they find each other in the crowd, the other man just grins. Baxter would very much like to kiss him then and there in spite of all the people, but he settles for asking him how the _hell_ he managed this.

"You underestimate my connections, my friend. Now, there's a table reserved for you, if you want it," he adds, gesturing to the lower level.

 _Jesus._ For once, he's fucking speechless.

"...Rodney—"

"No need to thank me—except, perhaps, later," he adds with a wink. "I have business to attend to."

With that he saunters away, but not before taking advantage of the thick crowd and smacking him on the ass.

This... doesn't change anything. It _can't_. Caruso's still a criminal, grand gesture or not, and... _dammit_.

Fine, it changes one thing:

He stops thinking of this as an _arrangement_ , and more as an affair. Or a relationship.

 

*

 

Ironically enough, Baxter is usually the rougher one. Rodney (he's stopped thinking of him as _Caruso_ in the context of their affair) likes to tease—he puts his hands all over and takes him tortuously slow. He even prefers to look him in the face.

Meanwhile Baxter feels that keeping some level of impersonality is safer. For what, exactly, he isn't sure, but he makes an effort to stick by it.

 _Making an effort_ being the key phrase, as he doesn't always succeed.

Rodney is... unpredictable. He'll coax him into a closet and ravage him one day, and the next he's visiting Baxter's apartment, sweet-talking him, getting on his knees and telling him to fuck his face. And he does it (it's breathtaking, seeing a man like that on his knees and those lips around his cock), but he wishes he could understand why and _how_ his mood shifts like that.

He wishes he could just fucking get a clear answer when he asks, really.

He wishes Rodney wouldn't be so soft with him on nights when all he wants is to blow off some steam, and even moreso he wishes that he didn't enjoy it.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were making love to me," he decides to say one evening, no more than five seconds after the other man rolls off of him.

He expects to be laughed at, or possibly even slapped.

Instead there's a considerable moment of silence before Rodney simply wraps an arm around his waist and hums against him, and Baxter can't tell whether or not this is preferable.

 

*

 

"What do you mean you won't publish it?"

"I mean that you're out of line, Baxter, and this is a load of crap. No one would read it even if it _was_ true."

"I took the pictures _myself_ , Daniels! I couldn't have possibly doctored these—look, it's _proof_ , right there, of what Caruso does and that Watt won't do shit about it. You can't ignore this."

"I can and I will. Now get out of my office before I decide to drop more than just your story."

It's more surreal than anything that he has to leave like this, that months of work mean nothing because his boss has lost his fucking mind. This isn't fair, it doesn't make any _sense_ , it—

Actually, wait. It _does_. He doesn't know why this didn't occur to him before.

Infuriated, Baxter leaves the building as soon as he gets the chance and starts his station wagon toward the Limelighter Lounge.

He finds Rodney (no, _Caruso_ ) behind the stage, and he doesn't care who sees him charging back there or even who hears him asking where he is by name. It's not like it fucking matters anymore.

"Archie, what a surprise, and in the middle of the day—"

"Cut the crap, Caruso," he snaps. The other man actually (finally) looks taken aback. "What was the point of all this, huh? Why even lie to me and tell me you _respect my job_ when you don't just have Watt in your pocket, but my _editor-in-chief_ , too?"

He only stares at Baxter for a second or so before relaxing again, just like he always does.

"I may omit much of the truth, Archie, but I do not _lie_. And I'm insulted that you would excuse me of such a thing."

"Well, lies or not, you've been wasting my time."

"Ah, or you've been wasting your own time?" Caruso says with a smile that Baxter wants to smack right off his face. "I do respect your job. And I believe in you. But you don't expect me to sell myself straight to San Quentin, do you?"

...He hesitates to answer that. Of course he never expected that, but has he ever had a good reason to believe he could best him in this game? (Has he deluded himself into thinking this was anything _other_ than a game?)

When all he does is stand there, mouth open but nothing coming out, Rodney seems to take pity on him. That is, he grabs him gently by the chin and pulls him down for a kiss.

He accepts it, but he hates himself for it. Part of him hopes Rodney can see it on his face when he pulls back.

"Why me?" he finally thinks to ask. "You coulda just killed me—why not? Am I just fun to play with?"

After all this time—after being genuine about his feelings for the first time in the few months they've been doing this, as stupid as it might be, Baxter thinks for just a second that he's going to get the God's honest truth in return.

Something flashes in Rodney's eyes, at least.

But it's gone as quick as it came, and all he does is smirk and pat him on the cheek before turning away.

"Why don't you go home and cool down, Archie. And come back tonight, if you're up to it."

 

*

 

Maybe he is just wasting his own time. Rodney's never given him any reason to believe he wouldn't let him walk away from their affair, and he's never really been afraid of him—at least, not in the traditional sense.

He _could_. He could just walk away from this and _quit_ the game because it's not getting him anywhere.

He can't possibly actually _care_ about the scumbag enough to stay, can he? He doesn't. That's not what this is about and it never has been, it's obviously something much more animal and physical than that—it _has_ to be.

And yet, when Rodney— _Caruso_ _—_ fuck it, _Rodney_ told him he believed in him, it really didn't feel like a lie. Whether or not that means he secretly _wants_ to be caught, at least Baxter can be sure he's not the only one with complicated feelings, here.

In fact, it's those words that keep him in the game, if nothing else. They motivate him to prove that Rodney was right to believe in him and simultaneously get some sense of revenge—to give himself some power over the bastard, for once.

They push him to the idea to tap his phone.

The conscious part of him has to wonder why he didn't think of it before, while the rest of him knows exactly why: because it felt like a cheap, dirty move, and something below Rodney Caruso himself.

And it _is_ dirty, particularly because it's the first time Baxter's truly taken advantage of their relationship: He gets around the guards easy (because Rodney's taught them to trust him) and gets into the secret office that no one else even knows about except Scarlett.

Maybe the guy actually trusted _him_ too much.

It's just his luck, though, that hardly two seconds after he screws the base of the phone back on, the door swings open. He has _just_ enough time to stand up straight and catch Rodney's look of shock dead on.

"Archie, what—?"

"I'm sorry I didn't show up yesterday," he says faster than he can think. The other man seems to be at a loss for words. "I was still pissed at you. But I got over it and I thought—I figured... I'd surprise you."

For once he's the one to step closer, and Rodney has to tilt his head up to scrutinize him. Which lasts for about two seconds before he pulls the door shut behind him.

"You know I love a good surprise."

Baxter takes that as permission and promptly drops to his knees, grabs Rodney's hips, and holds them firmly against the door while he mouths at his crotch.

He knows it isn't any kind of real distraction, even with hands clutching at his hair so hard it hurts (the way he likes it, even as his rings catch and pull some hairs straight out), and muffled moans as Rodney knocks his head back against the door—he knows the man isn't stupid enough to suspect nothing. Hell, he might already know exactly what he was really doing in here.

It really is just an elaborate game, isn't it? Rodney won't even be angry if and when he finds the wire tap, he'll just be glad Baxter's finally living up to expectations. He'll be _proud_.

Or at least some depraved part him hopes that he will be.

 

*

 

Weeks pass and his new source gives him nothing on Watt, nothing on _any_ police corruption or even much of anything illegal at all—he has to guess that Caruso found the tap as early as he expected and simply left it there to fuck with him.

But of course, on the off chance that he hasn't found it (and that it's only a coincidence the most exciting thing he's talked about on that phone is the difference between puce and purple), Baxter has no choice but to keep listening. He does his job, and his affair with Rodney goes on, and he comes home every night to listen to what he's recorded.

When he finally hears something interesting, however, it's not anything he expected—or even wanted—to hear.

It's not even Rodney on the phone.

 _"I'm just not sure_ _—_ _"_

_"Boss is busy with a client tonight, sugar. We could meet up, go for a drive."_

_"Well. In that case, which piece you want me to wear, Miles?_

_"How 'bout none of 'em?"_

Baxter doesn't listen to much of the rest of it; he doesn't need to. Now all of it makes _sense_ _—_ the private shows, the way she's always watched him... wait.

That picture. He _knew_ something was off about it (besides the drunk cops) when he took it, he just couldn't place it, but now—

—he scrambles through folders to find it, and when he can finally look at the whole thing again, it clicks. It's Miles's car out front and there's a woman driving it—a woman who, when he looks closely, can only be Scarlett Jones. Wearing his necklace, no less!

This is... bad. Baxter pulls off the headphones and slams the picture down and sinks into his chair with worry. And not even for Scarlett, who likely believes she'll be on the deadly side of Rodney's temper if he finds out, but for Rodney himself.

Part of him is even angry at Scarlett, which he knows is fucked up because her boyfriend is cheating on her with _him_ _—_ though she doesn't know that. And yeah, maybe they're both using him, but in a way Baxter actually has permission.

_Should I tell him?_

_Or make_ her _tell him?_

 _Or_ _—_

There's really only one thing to do with this, isn't there? And _god_ , it's dirty, illegal even, but hell if he hasn't already sunk that low.

 

*

 

He brings the picture, but he doesn't talk about blackmail outright because he knows he doesn't need to. She sees he has the evidence of her affair, so she knows the threat is there if she avoids his question.

And contrary to what Caruso promised him, she talks.

Everything that the guy refused to tell _him_ _—_ all the details on his mafia proceedings, particularly on the drug trade and the members of the police involved, she gives him when he asks. All he needed was a goddamn picture and suddenly the past few months can mean something.

( _Did_ they mean anything?)

He comes back a few days later with more to ask, and Rodney spots them talking, doesn't seem to think anything of it, even invites him back to his office later in the evening.

Baxter goes because it may very well be his last time—he has pretty much everything he needs to make a solid case, that is. So why not have one last ride? A nice fuck for the road, a hickey or two to remember him by. Pretty soon he should be behind bars, maybe even getting a capital sentence.

(...Is it supposed to feel this bad?)

Rodney kisses him on the cheek before he leaves, surely expecting there to be plenty more of this in the future. That's when the guilt (if that's what it is) really starts to eat at him.

He shows up for one more talk with Scarlett, though it probably isn't necessary, or even a good idea. While he cloaks it in some technical mafia questions, there's something that's been on his mind all day and he simply _needs_ it answered.

"Do you mind if I ask something a little more personal, Miss Jones?"

"You should know by now to call me Scarlett, Archie."

He takes that as a yes and cuts right to the chase:

"What's he like as a lover?"

Her eyes widen at that, and her mouth drops open, as though she doesn't know which one he means. And he realizes that's a valid confusion, so he clarifies:

"Rodney. What's he like?"

"Oh." She raises an eyebrow, but doesn't protest it. "Not disappointing, if that's what you're thinking. He's... rough."

 _Not with me,_ he very nearly says—but he stops himself. It would be somewhat of a satisfying end to all this, letting her know about the affair because she clearly doesn't already (part of him hoped that she would, for reasons he can't explain), but... he stops while he's ahead. And he takes that answer with a nod, as well as one last gulp of his milk before leaving.

At the time Baxter doesn't think much of it, but he starts to feel a bit dizzy when he steps out of the Lounge.

 

*

 

It ends with a bang, but not in the usual manner that Rodney knows one.

An employee comes into his office, newspaper in hand, looking a bit like he doesn't know how to say what he's about to say.

"Just spit it out," he snaps. He doesn't have time for this—

"You know that reporter who comes 'round here a lot?"

Okay, perhaps he does.

"Yes, what about him?"

"Well, he's, ah—" Rodney frowns, and the guy promptly tosses the newspaper onto his desk. "He's dead. Just thought you ought to know, Boss."

Likely spooked by the look on his face, the guy rushes out of his office, slamming the door shut behind him. The resounding _bang_ echoes in Rodney's ears for several moments before he can bring himself to actually pick up the newspaper and read it.

No, that's—

 _Drove himself off a bridge, alcohol in his system._ (That's fucking impossible, Archie _doesn't_ drink.)

_Ruled an accident, possibly a suicide, though a sky blue cadillac was seen driving away from the scene._

Sky blue cadillac.

Velour's car? He was doing a gig in Kansas City that night, and no one even would have had access to that car except for—

Oh. _God_ no. If she did this, and for the reason he thinks she did, then... no.

Rodney can't even stand to look at the stupid paper—he rips it in half and balls it all up and throws it across the room with as much force as he can muster, and instead of yelling like he wants to, he simply brings his fist down on the table once and storms out of the office.

He needs to find Scarlett, to ask—no, he needs to _scream_ at her because he _knows_ why, and even though he never screams, not ever... she needs to know. He doesn't know if he'll kill her, but she at least needs to know that he's thinking about it because _that's_ how fucking angry he is.

That's how much she's hurt him.

Before he can figure out where the hell she is, though, a couple men in suits stroll into the Lounge and make their way towards him. Not mafia, as far as he can tell at first glance.

"Rodney Caruso?"

He blinks, unable to do much else. "Who wants to know?"

"It just so happens we have a warrant for your arrest."

He feels so numb, now, that he nearly just... lets it happen. Of course, these are the feds. Of _course_ they have backup, they have men at every exit, there's simply no way out except in cuffs.

In the back of his mind he knows he'll still have a trial, but there's only one way they would even have the information to arrest him in the first place... and that's if they have _all_ of it. This is where he goes down whether he likes it or not.

He almost forgets about Scarlett on the way out. Hell, when the squad car door closes, he can't help but laugh.

_Looks like you win, Archie._

**Author's Note:**

> I actually drew fanart for the odyssey version of shassie a while ago, and now it’s a [more suitably colored banner](http://luciferofficial.tumblr.com/post/136422810751/bang-bang-1967-a-psych-odyssey-the-extended) for this fic.


End file.
